The Kid is All Right
by abbyfillion22
Summary: "Cain nodded, staring directly at Castle who was stunned into silence. "Castle, I'm your son.""
1. Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

_She hummed to herself as she made dinner, the steady staccato of the cutting knife coming down on the carrot tapping against the board in time to the beat of the song. She wasn't sure what song it was, only that she had heard it on the radio that morning in the car. It was a melancholy song, she remembered, something about dying young._

Bury me in silence; lay me down on a bed of roses…

_She scraped the carrot into the large bowl and reached for the head of lettuce. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow shift strangely. She turned and saw nothing; deciding it was only the light playing tricks on her again. She was being paranoid. Something about being home alone at night did that to a person._

Send me away with the words of a love song…

_Walking over to the fridge, she continued to hum, inserting the few lyrics she did know where they fit. She reached into the clear bottom drawer and extracted a crisp red onion, its skin crackling under her nails._

_When she went back to the cutting board, she set the onion in the center of the scratched wood. Her cell phone vibrated and a picture of her son appeared._

**Cain: B home 10ish**

_She dropped her phone into the front pocket of her sweater and reached for the knife. _Strange_, she thought. She could've sworn that she set the blade on the board. She glanced around for it, walking back to the fridge just in case she had left it there by accident._

Who would've thought forever could be severed by a sharp knife and a short life…

_She stared into the bright white light of the fridge, letting the cold air sweep over her. She let out a sigh as she closed the door, the kitchen becoming eerily dark._

_She turned back to the island where the salad sat; humming the song she wished she knew the name of. It bothered her, not remembering the title of the previously popular song._

_Suddenly, a silent hand closed around her shoulder and she jumped._

_The gasp barely escaped her lips before the sharp edge of the blade dragged across her throat, the world going black. She slid to the ground and her last thought before death took her: _If I Die Young.


	2. Chapter 2

_My child arrived just the other day  
He came to the world in the usual way  
But there were planes to catch and there were bills to pay  
He learned to walk while I was away  
-Harry Chapin  
_

CHAPTER 1

"I heard it was suicide."

"Can you see anything?"

"That poor kid. Orphan at 16. What was his name again?"

The buzz in the street was like a swarm of bees all centralized around one bit of honey. They stood corralled behind yellow wood barriers patrolled by the police; nosy neighbors and local reporters alike. The fire-shaded autumn leaves fell steadily onto their hats and shoulders; gloved hands gripping their iPhones; cameras pointed in the direction of the house, waiting for an Instagram-worthy moment to befall upon the tragic situation.

Cain Watson stood leaning against the side of the house, scowling at the tightly-packed crowd, his intense blue eyes burning into the backs of every uniformed cop that ducked under the tape that was nailed across his front door. He scuffed the heel of his sneaker into the hard-packed dirt hidden under the crusty brown grass and shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets to keep them warm. His fingers met the warm metal of his car keys and a few old mint wrappers along with a whole lot of crumbs and something sticky.

As another car pulled up, scattering the crowd, Cain ducked his head so his brown hair fell across his forehead, tickling his eyebrows. He pretended not to watch as a hot female detective climbed out of the driver's seat and said something to the large male accompanying him. Cain squinted at them, appraising the newcomers. They were both taller than average and the others around them had to look up to talk to them. The woman was gorgeous in a subtle sort of way with light brown hair that fell past her shoulders and dark hazel eyes that turned gold when she looked into the sun. Her skinny frame was clad in black leggings and ankle boots, kept warm by a brown leather jacket and white scarf. The man was just a bit taller than her and well built. His dark brown hair looked matted and careless, like he had just rolled out of bed. He wore an expensive looking wool coat over a dark crimson shirt and slacks. For some reason, Cain thought the man looked oddly familiar, but couldn't think of where he had seen him before. Both individuals held to-go coffee mugs.

Something about the way they walked up the path, their arms occasionally brushing and with the happy, somewhat shy, grins made Cain assume that they were together. The woman's gaze stayed trained on the ground as they approached the house but the man was focused on her. They were speaking quietly to each other, casting furtive glances about the yard.

The woman took one look at the horde accumulating in front of the crime scene and turned to a uniform, looking upset about something. After some exchanged words and many gesticulations of frustration from the lady, the uniform turned to the crowd.

"All right, all of y'all need to get outta here before I arrest ya for loiterin'," Cain heard the cop say. "This ain't no attraction for ya'll to be gawkin' at. Have some respect. Go on now."

There was a collective grumble of annoyance and some reluctant shuffling before phones were tucked away and the mass dispersed.

The pair continued up the rocky path to the porch where they stopped before the entrance.

Cain leaned back again, pretending like he hadn't just been staring intently at the two. He let out a sigh and his head fell back, bumping against the side of the house.

"I'm just saying, it would be cool to get married in a castle," said the man. "Y'know, it would be a wink to the fact that you're going to be one."

"Yeah," the woman laughed sarcastically, "good luck finding a lord in New York who would be willing to rent out his fiefdom for our wedding, Castle."

Cain's breath caught in his throat and he poked his head around the corner. Had she just said "Castle?" It couldn't be. Yet… he_ did_ look familiar.

"I wouldn't need his entire fief, Beckett," said Castle, exasperated. "Just his castle and maybe a few horses."

The man's back was to him and Cain wished he would turn just a bit to the side so he could get a clear view of his face. The woman he called Beckett looked over his shoulder and made eye contact with Cain.

Cain ducked quickly back behind the corner, blushing guiltily.

"What?" asked Castle.

Cain cringed as he heard the sound of heels across the porch, making their way to his place of solitude. He squeezed his eyes shut and hugged the side of the house.

"Hey there," Beckett said, leaning over the railing. "You know, just because you can't see us, doesn't mean we can't see you."

Cain warily opened his eyes. He reveled at the woman's stunning smile and instantly felt calmer, not like he had with the other cops.

She gracefully vaulted the railing and landed a few feet away from him, her hand extended. "I'm Detective Beckett."

Castle, having tried to mimic Beckett's vault, had gotten his foot caught in the posts mid-jump and was now sprawled in the grass, face-down. "Ow," he murmured into the dirt.

Beckett shook her head and leaned over to help him up. "You should have gone around," she whispered, brushing him off.

"Yeah, I know," he said.

Cain smirked at him and pushed his aviators up the bridge of his nose, satisfied after having gotten a good look at the man.

"This is Castle," Detective Beckett said in an obligatory tone.

"I'm Castle," said Castle, shaking Cain's hand.

He nodded coolly. "Cain. Watson." He immediately dug his hands around in his pockets and extracted his keys. The ring slid easily over his forefinger and he flicked his wrist, spinning the keys around his index, a tic he had developed to mask anxiousness.

"Fascinating name," Castle mused, obviously trying to determine whether his name was biblical.

Cain regarded him curiously. "I… guess." In his mind, he had played out so many different scenarios of this particular moment. None of them included being so suddenly bereft of his mother. Castle was just how his mom had described him; charming and warm if not a bit ditzy.

Detective Beckett jumped in at the gap in forced conversation. "Would you mind if we talked?"

He glared at the ground. "I already told the cops everything I know." All morning, the police had been harangued by police, reporters, and neighbors alike about the events of last night . Every time, he told them the exact same thing and it became progressively harder for him to talk about it. The thought of his mom, the person who had raised him on his own, the one who had tucked him into bed every night when he was little, taught him how to read, and held him as he cried, was now gone for good was just too difficult for him to face. Even the brief thought of her made a lump rise in his throat.

"I know," Detective Beckett said, leaning against the wall next to him. "We can talk here if you want. I know how hard it can be, going back into the house." And by "house," she meant the crime scene.

Cain shrugged nonchalantly, deciding he liked the detective. She was real, unlike the uniformed cops milling around his front yard. Plus, she was nice to look at. He looked warily at Castle, though, trying to determine if he could trust him. He looked nice enough. "All right."

He was pleasantly surprised that the detective didn't hold a recorder in his face or scribble down notes as she began her questions. "Were you and your mother close?"

Cain blinked twice. "Yes. We were."

"When did you see her last?" asked the Detective, crossing her arms as a cold breeze blew past.

He pulled the zipper of his jacket further up his neck and peered at her from behind the sunglasses he wore even though the sky was greyer than his emotions for the sake of concealment of his bloodshot eyes. "In the morning before I left for school," he replied, looking plaintively away. "She… made me waffles and wished me good luck at my basketball game." He fingered the red and white varsity letter W on the right side of his jacket then replaced his cold hand back in the pocket.

Detective Beckett watched him carefully. "Is that why you were out so late?"

"Yeah, it was an away game and we went out to celebrate our win," he said, running his hand through his dark brown hair self-consciously. "Mum always made me waffles on game days. And she would call me after to ask how I played."

Castle moved next to him. When they were standing close, they were about the same height, Cain realized. "Did she call you last night?"

"No," Cain informed them, his voice rising slightly at the realization. He _had _found it curious that his mom never phoned him but didn't think this detail was significant to her murder.

"Why do you think that is?" Detective Beckett asked.

Cain shrugged. "I have no idea. I wasn't too concerned at the time. Maybe she was busy." He shook his head. "God, I should have known," he exhaled, his eyes burning. "I should have known when she didn't call that something was wrong." Cain then turned and punched the side of the house, his fist leaving a dent in the flimsy metal. The pain in his hand was excruciating, but nothing compared to how terrible he felt inside; grief, guilt, and anger welling up and beginning to boil over.

Castle put a gentle hand on his shoulder and turned him back around so he couldn't hurt himself. "It's not your fault, Cain."

"He's right," Detective Beckett added quietly. "You can't blame yourself for what happened. There's no way you could have known-"

"But I should have!" Cain shouted angrily. He wiped his profusely running nose as the adults looked to the street where some cops were staring in their direction. He was tired and sick, sick of answering everyone's questions, of being demanded to talk about his mom when all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep; to forget. Maybe when he woke up, the nightmare would be over and he would go downstairs where his mom would make him waffles and call him after his game.

He stared at Beckett. "You have no idea what it's like to feel this kind of guilt, to know that you could have done something to stop it."

"Well, you're wrong there, Cain," Beckett replied plainly, not a hint of emotion resonating in her tone. Her expression was suddenly stony and she stared at him with distant eyes as if remembering a painful memory that spent most of its time festering in the back of her mind, waiting to consume her at any chance.

Castle shuffled his feet uncomfortably, his shiny black shoes stirring up the dirt.

Cain immediately regretted his comment. He could tell that Beckett had gone through some hard times herself just by Castle's reaction.

"Can you think of any reason someone might want to harm your mom?" the Detective asked, keeping the conversation rolling to avoid any awkward silences and for this, he was grateful.

Cain shook his head. "No, no one. My mom kept to herself mostly." He can't remember the last time his mom went out with her friends or even called someone. She worked so hard all the time to put food on the table; she had no time for anything else. Sometimes, he would come home to find her asleep at her computer, knowing that she had spent hours in that chair, typing away.

"She didn't have any disagreements with anyone recently?"

"No."

"Problems at work?"

"No."

"Financial problems?"

"No more than usual."

Detective Beckett shifted her weight and brushed a strand of hair behind her right ear. "All right, I'm going to check out the scene," she said more to Castle. Cain noticed that she said "I'm" instead of "we're".

Castle took the hint and they exchanged a mutual nod as Beckett turned and walked towards the porch, her hands wrapped tightly around her coffee cup.

Cain watched Castle watch her go. He reminded him of a puppy dog, told to stay by his master, slightly sad by her absence. He blinked and looked straight at Cain then smiled awkwardly.

Cain turned away slightly and avoided his gaze. He nodded towards where Detective Beckett just disappeared. "She's hot," he said deftly, the expected offhand comment from a boy of his demographic, an attempt to divert the conversation to a more conventional topic than his mother's death.

Castle smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I know. She gets that a lot."

Cain pushed his finger around the mysterious sticky substance lining the interior of his pocket, trying to determine if it was gum or some form of weird putty or perhaps rubber cement? Castle continued to stare at him so he added, "You're together?"

"Yeah."

"I can tell."

"Can you?"

"Yeah."

"We're engaged."

"Are you?"

"Yeah. We're getting married in a castle… maybe."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks." Castle sniffed loudly to fill the gap.

Both Cain and Castle wished Beckett would return quickly with news just so they wouldn't have to stand with this odd tension between them that only the teenager understood.

The two of them made small talk about basketball and waffles for a few minutes until Detective Beckett came back.

"Hey," Castle said, relieved. "Anything?"

"Yeah," she replied, glancing poignantly at Cain. "Not now."

Castle nodded.

Cain felt a chill as the cold wind cut through the open space, biting at his already numb cheeks. "Detective, don't withhold information on my behalf," he said sternly. "I can handle it. I want to know." Cain was certain that he would never come to terms with his mom's death until they found out what had happened. After all, he had been the one who found her, lying there dead, in her own pool of blood. There's no way he could ever erase that memory.

Beckett frowned but she proceeded with caution. "We found a few fingerprints but it will take a while for CSU to process them. We'll have a list of suspects within a few hours." She paused and reached up to push away a nonexistent strand of hair from in front of her ear. "Cain, do you have any family you can stay with?"

Cain shook his head sadly. "No. No, mom was an only child and my grandparents are dead…" he trailed off.

Castle and Beckett looked at each other.

"Where's your dad?" Castle asked gently.

Cain looked straight at him and replied, "I ah, never met my dad."

Detective Beckett cleared her throat. "Well, you can come back to the precinct with us until Social Services arrives to sort out your living arrangements," she said promptly.

Cain frowned and ducked his head to follow them towards the street where their car was parked. Detective Beckett opened the back door for him and he slid in, knowing in the back of his mind that hundreds of criminals must have sat in the same seat as him, the only difference being the lack of handcuffs and guilt… well, the lack of handcuffs.

Sadness consumed him as the car pulled out of the driveway and somehow he knew that it would be the last time he would see his home.

* * *

"You know you don't have to sit here and babysit me," Cain told Castle who was sitting behind Beckett's desk, fiddling hopelessly with a Rubik's cube while Beckett was busy in another room trying to piece together the murder.

Castle set down the cube which had the entire white side completed, but all others jumbled. "Nah, it's fun hanging with you," he said in attempt to sound cool. "So what do you like to do for fun?"

Cain took a piece of blank paper from Detective Beckett's desk, crumpled it up, and threw it across the room where it landed in the wastebasket. "Basketball."

Castle crumpled a second sheet and threw it in the direction of the can but it wound up going wide by over five feet. He frowned. "Anything else?"

"Not really," Cain confessed. "I like to read." He sunk a second ball in the can and Castle missed again, hitting a passing cop.

Castle pointed accusingly at Cain. "He did it."

"Dude," Cain complained when receiving a glare from the cop.

Castle gave up on trash basketball and settled with his Rubik's. "What do you like to read?"

"Playboy, mostly," he said nonchalantly, tossing another piece of paper. It buried itself in the bag with a satisfying _tcshh_. He smirked at Castle's appalled expression. "Kidding." Cain picked up another sheet of paper and was in the process of balling it up when he paused.

Castle peered at him. "What's wrong?"

Cain tossed the ball in the air and caught it. "What do you think?"

"Right."

It worried Cain that the grief hadn't fully hit him yet. He should be sobbing his eyes out by now over his dead mother. It was just a matter of time before all of that emotion would spill over, tired of being pushed down and denied. He couldn't keep up this passive façade forever.

"So what's going to happen to me?" Cain asked quietly.

Castle sat forward in his chair and folded his hands over the desktop. "Social Services will try to find you a temporary home until they find you a… permanent one."

The corners of Cain's mouth twitched. "A foster home?"

Castle swallowed hard.

Cain shook his head. "I can't. I can't go to a foster home; I'd rather live on my own." He looked at Castle who was examining him with a deeply concerned expression. "I can be emancipated, right?"

"You're sixteen?"

"Yeah, so I can?" He asked, standing up and beginning to pace.

"I guess but-"

"That's what I want," Cain insisted. "I want to be emancipated. I don't need anyone. I can live on my own."

"Cain," he said gently, "think through this. Where will you go? What will you do for money?"

"I can drop out of school and get a job."

Castle tapped a finger against his chin. "You can't drop out. You'll regret it-"

"You can't tell me what to do, you're not my-" Cain argued defiantly, bitterness at Castle finally seeping into the conversation.

Detective Beckett snuck up on them with a stack of files under her arm. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Cain and Castle said in unison.

Beckett gave Castle a questioning look but he only shrugged. "Okay," she resigned, pulling Castle out of her chair. "Cain, we're looking into a list of suspects now and your social worker is on her way over."

"Well tell her to pick up my lawyer on the way because I ain't going to some boy's home," Cain grumbled. "Don't think I don't know what happens to people there." He messed with the zipper of his jacket, pulling the zip all the way up to his neck. He suddenly felt alone and scared. _Inhale, exhale, smile_, he told himself.

Cain stood up so he was facing Castle. "What's your dad like?" Now was the time to tell him.

Castle glanced worriedly at Beckett, unsure of the direction of the conversation. "I… don't know. I only met him once." His hands were in his pockets and through the fabric, Cain could see him fiddling uncomfortably with his keys.

A lump rose in his throat. "Do you remember my mom?"

Castle's jaw went slack. "I don't-"

"Because she remembered you."

Beckett was looking back and forth between the two males as if watching a ping-pong match. "You knew the victim?" the detective asked Castle.

Castle was flustered, heat rising in his cheeks. "I don't… I know a lot of people. I mean, I guess I could have." He collected himself. "What was your mom's name?"

"Collette," Cain informed him. He obviously didn't remember his mom if he didn't care to know her name before this point. "Collette Watson."

Castle seemed to be mentally running through a list of his contacts in his head. "I-"

"I don't blame you, it was a long time ago," Cain sympathized.

"What was a long time ago?" Detective Beckett chimed in, her brow furrowed.

"You and my mom went on a date 17 years ago," Cain explained. He never broke eye contact with Castle. "My mom attended one of your book signings and you offered to buy her dinner afterwards. The two of you wound up going home together."

Cain could tell that Castle knew what was coming next.

"You went home the next morning, promising to call her soon," Cain said matter-of-factly. "But she never heard from you again." There was a lull in his monologue as he mapped out how best to deliver the information. "Next thing she knew…" he said quietly, his gaze faltering once. "…she found out she was pregnant with me."

Detective Beckett's face grew dark. "Wait a minute, you're not seriously saying-"

Cain nodded, staring directly at Castle who was stunned into silence. "Castle, I'm your son."


	3. Chapter 3

Castle's mouth opened, then closed, and opened again, the wind completely knocked out of him. Cain might as well have just punched him in the gut. There was that brief moment after hearing this news that he believed wholeheartedly in what was said. Then, reason and common sense crept in. His first instinct was to explain himself to Beckett.

"Castle-" she whispered.

"I don't," he fumbled, "I'm not- he's not my… I don't-"

Cain felt like he was intruding on an extremely private conversation. He shuffled backwards.

Castle's eyes grew wide as Detective Beckett's narrowed suspiciously. "Cain, if you need a place to live-"

"It's not about that," he insisted. "I just thought you should know."

"Collette Watson…" Castle muttered. "Crap."

"What?" Detective Beckett inquired. She wedged herself between Cain and her fiancé. "What?"

Castle covered his mouth with his hand. "Crap," he repeated. "I remember her. I remember it was right after the divorce and the book tour…" he trailed off, his brow creasing with worry.

Cain nodded at the floor, at least appreciative that his mom wasn't just one of Castle's meaningless hookups. He stared at the whiteboard to his right where all the evidence accumulated over the time period of last night and today was hanging by magnets and clear Scotch tape. His mom had told him the story of the night she and Castle met, how smart and charming he was.

Castle bit worriedly on his thumbnail and stared into the distance, lost in his memory. "It… we… we didn't use…" he sighed. "Crap."

Beckett moved closer to him and dropped her voice, but Cain could still hear them. "Castle, he can't possibly be-"

"But I don't know, Beckett," Castle said, biting his lip. "I don't know." He looked over her shoulder at Cain, searching for resemblances.

Cain was almost as tall as him with coarse, dark hair. His eyes were a turquoise blue and there was an undeniable likeliness about them both. Even the way Cain carried himself, with slightly curved shoulders, hands in his pockets, was similar to Castle. It could be coincidental, but Castle knew that it wasn't. Cain was a mirror image of him when he was a teenager.

Detective Beckett turned to look at him also. "Oh," she said, after noticing the similarities for the first time. She faced Castle again. "Rick-"

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know-"

"No, Castle, it's… don't apologize, please," Detective Beckett told him earnestly. "I… you need to…" She was equally as shocked as Castle. "I'll be… in the break room. You should-"

"Yeah," Castle muttered. "I know."

Detective Beckett whispered something inaudible to Castle and he nodded.

"I'll be over there if you need me, okay babe?" she said.

"Okay," Castle replied, kissing her on the cheek.

Detective Beckett glanced at Cain and offered a faint smile before walking off. She went into a nearby room but Cain could see her watching them through the spaces in the blinds.

Cain leaned up against an empty desk and regarded Castle. "Look, I'm sorry if this is bad timing-"

"No it's…" Castle began. He took a deep breath. "How did you know this?"

"My mom told me."

"But why didn't she tell _me_?" asked Castle, slightly aggravated that he had been oblivious to the existence of a son for 16 years now.

Cain shrugged. "Like I said, she never heard from you again." He gripped the edges of the desk until his knuckles turned white. "Once I was born, you were remarried and it was too late to say anything. She knew how it would make you look and she didn't want to bring trouble. She always spoke highly of you," he added.

"You could have come to me," Castle said. "You said you had financial problems-"

"Mom wasn't like that," Cain explained, shrugging. "She was too proud. She never wanted to rely on someone else.

Castle's frown deepened. "Cain, I could have been there for you-"

"No, you couldn't have. You had your own family."

"That doesn't mean-"

"I know, I just thought you should know," he reiterated. He looked past Castle where a frumpily-dressed middle aged woman with a briefcase had just stepped out of the elevator and was now honing in on them. He maneuvered past Castle and met the woman.

"Are you Cain Watson?" she asked.

"That's me," he said reticently.

"My name's Joan, I'm from Social Services."

Cain looked over his shoulder where Castle was still standing dumbfounded. "So are you going to find me a new home?"

* * *

"Emancipation isn't the answer, Cain," Joan said again.

He crossed his arms stubbornly. "I told you, I'm not going into foster care." They had been at this for an hour now, arguing about which direction was the best way to go. She didn't care about him, she only cared about which place will keep Services from being blamed from whatever harm he was bound to cause in the future.

They sat in a small, empty conference room, a stack of papers spread on the table and a pitcher of water between them with two glasses flanking it. The curve of the pitcher bent and magnified the words on the documents on the opposite side.

Cain sat slouched in his seat, fingering the loop of keys in his pocket, comforted by the familiar, cool objects that spent the majority of their time at his fingertips.

Joan let out an exasperated sigh. "Cain, this is your best option-"

There was a sudden knock on the door and Cain sat up when Detective Beckett opened the door.

"Excuse me," she said to Joan. "Cain, could we talk to you for a second please?"

Joan rubbed her forehead. "I'm sorry, but we're in the middle of discussing-"

"Yes," Cain replied quickly, standing up and pulling the bottom of his jacket down. He hurried from the claustrophobic room.

Detective Beckett closed the door behind them and led them towards another room. This one was in the middle of the precinct, the same one that Beckett had gone to during his conversation with Castle. An old glass-screen TV hung in one corner and a cappuccino machine sat on the counter behind an old couch and two chairs. Castle sat in one of them, one ankle crossed over his knee and his hands folded in his lap, looking particularly professional.

Beckett handed him a cup of coffee and gestured for him to sit. She stood supportively behind Castle, one hand on the back of his chair.

"Cain," said Castle, "we've talked it over and agreed that you can stay with us until you find a permanent home."

Cain looked at Detective Beckett for any hint of dishonesty in the proposal. "Are you… are you serious?"

"If you want to," Beckett added hastily, her nails drumming against the dark blue mug she was holding.

"Yeah I-" he raised an eyebrow. "Um. Thank you. Thanks so much."

Castle nodded glumly. "It's the least we- I can do."

Cain understood what he meant. He felt guilty for missing out on the first 16 years of Cain's life and was obviously trying to make up for it.

"But I want to get a DNA test," Castle said. "Just to make sure that you're actually, you know, my… son." The word fell unfamiliarly from his lips. _Son._

Cain nodded. "Yeah, of course." He didn't have anything to lose by getting a paternity test done... well, besides some blood. He knew for a fact that Castle was his dad and something told him that Castle knew too.

Detective Beckett nodded. "All right then, it's settled. I'll go talk to your case worker about the arrangements and explain what's going on." She looked at her watch. "My shift ends in a few hours. Until then, will you mind just hanging around?"

"Not at all." He said, suddenly agreeable. A weight was lifted from him, knowing that he'd have some place to sleep tonight.

"Good," said Detective Beckett, turning to Castle. "Why don't you two go out to Remy's and get some food?" she hinted.

Castle grinned. "All right. What can I bring you back?"

"My usual," Beckett told him. They had clearly gone to this Remy's place numerous times before if she had a "usual".

Cain felt like an outsider, being in the company of these two. Almost as if he was a deviation in the pattern they held in their day-to-day. "What's Remy's?" he asked once in the elevator.

Castle pressed the G button and the inwards facing arrows to shut the doors. "Oh, it's this diner Beckett and I go to sometimes when we're working late cases."

"They still have _diners_?" Cain smirked.

"Yeah, and?"

"That's so 1970s."

Castle laughed heartily. "You won't be making fun once you've tried their burgers," he said, "Beckett likes to get their strawberry milkshakes and chicken club and the owner gives us free lava cakes..."

Cain was only half paying attention. He was too focused on the reflection in the gold doors in front of them. He saw two men standing side-by-side, both of the same height and stature. The dullness of the metal blurred their figures so only their vague outlines were visible. Cain smiled, seeing father and son for the first time.

* * *

They picked up food to go, both Castle and Cain ordering bacon cheeseburgers and fries and a chicken club for Beckett. The waitress handed them a cardboard cupholder with three styrofoam cups of strawberry, chocolate, and vanilla milkshakes.

They took their time walking back to the 12th, the night air cool and crisp. Castle kept reaching his hand into the large white back containing their food to munch on a few of the fries as they walked. "So," Castle said with a mouthful of potato, "how much do you know about your old man?"

Cain pressed the button for the crosswalk as taxis bustled by, advertisements for Broadway shows, restaurants, and insurance plans glowing on the triangular lights affixed to their roofs. He held the milkshakes close to him and tapped his foot until the square light on the other side of the street showed the white walking man.

"I know you're a world famous author," Cain shouted over the blasts of the car horns.

Castle hurried to keep stride with him as they crossed the busy road. "Did you know I have a daughter?"

"No," Cain said, surprised. He hadn't heard much about Castle besides his books. "How old is she?"

Castle handed him a fistful of fries which he crammed into his mouth. "Almost 20," he said proudly. "She's going to Columbia to major in criminal justice."

"Sounds like that sort of career runs in the family," Cain noted as they were forced to stop and wait for the light to change.

"What did your mom do?" asked Castle. As a bus drove past and stopped in front of them, they got a glimpse of a movie advertisement for Naked Heat. Castle smiled at it.

"She was a writer."

"Anything I might have heard of?"

"She was a journalist," he clarified. Collette was a passionate writer, always looking for inspiration in everything she did. She was one of the best. Her boss had just given her a promotion and a weekly column. With the extra money, his mom had bought him a new pair of basketball shoes, the ones he had been pining for but never been able to afford until recently. They were blue. He told Castle this.

"She sounds nice," Castle responded.

"She was."

They walked a little longer but Castle threw his arm out, stopping Cain in his path. "What?"

"You said she had just gotten extra money?"

Cain shrugged, not seeing how this was significant. "So?"

Castle squinted. "And you're sure it came from work?"

"Where else could it have come from?" Cain inquired.

Castle pulled his cell phone out. "I gotta tell Beckett."

Cain placed his palm over his screen. "I'm sorry, I don't understand why this is important."

"What you learn when you've worked 6 years with the NYPD is that _every _change in normal life before a homicide is important." He tapped a message out and sent it. "Unpredictable people are our biggest enemies."

The precinct was now in view, the only building on the block with all of its lights still on.

"You've been with the PD for 6 years?" asked Cain. He hadn't stuck with _anything_ for 6 years before. He used to do soccer, but quit after a year, he only dated girls for a month or so before breaking up with them, and never kept the same username for more than a few weeks. He was starting to think he had commitment issues.

"Yeah, I had my reasons for staying," Castle said vaguely. At the door with black 12th Precinct letters hanging above, they were out of fries and conversation topics.

They made their way back upstairs and settled in at Detective Beckett's desk with their food, a game of hangman going at the murder board.

Castle guessed the vowels first and Cain filled in two lower case Os, an uppercase E, and an A, drawing body parts for I, U, and Y.

"Where's Detective Beckett?" asked Cain, adding an arm to his victim when Castle guessed B.

"L," he said. "She's interrogating one of our suspects."

"Who is…?"

"Jonah Smith."

"Jonah Smith?"

"You know him?"

Cain filled in two Ls, one uppercase and one lower. "Uh, yeah. He was one of my mom's friends."

"Was?" asked Castle. "As in past tense? N."

Cain filled in four Ns. "Yeah, they had a falling out a few years back."

"London England," Castle said, winning the game. "And you haven't seen him since?"

"No," Cain answered. "He hasn't been by the house in years... why would his prints still be at our house?"

"They wouldn't."

Cain erased the board with the palm of his hand and wiped the ink off on his jeans. "Can I go watch?"

"The interrogation? Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." Castle gestured towards the interrogation rooms. "You're going to love this, Beckett's the best. She can scare the living hell out of people when she wants to."

"I believe it," said Cain. They stopped in front of a wide window. Inside the tiny room, Beckett stood prowling in front of his mom's friend, a man he used to call Uncle Jonah. Three computer screens next to the window showed three different camera feeds from the interior of the room.

Castle saw Cain examining the electronics. "Cool, huh? We just got an upgrade." He pressed a button and the sound from inside came through on the speakers.

"I didn't do it," said Uncle Jonah, sweating nervously in his chair. "You've got the wrong guy; I haven't spoken to Collette in years!"

Beckett stopped and leaned over with her palms on the table, her back to Cain and Castle. "Then explain to my why CSU found your prints at the crime scene."

It was strange seeing his Uncle Jonah in the suspect seat. Jonah used to be Cain's father figure during the time that he needed one most. He hadn't seen him since 2010. Jonah looked older now, with grey hair showing in his roots and wrinkles in his cheeks.

Jonah swallowed hard. "All right, I went there yesterday, but only to talk."

"Seriously? To talk?" Beckett chided.

"Yeah."

"About what?"

"Life."

"Where were you between 9:30 and 10:00 last night?"

Uncle Jonah wiped his lips with the back of his hand to buy himself time to think. "At home."

Detective Beckett nodded, satisfied that she had Smith right where she wanted. "Can anyone vouch for that?"

Jonah thought for a long moment, too long for Beckett's liking.

"That's a yes or no question."

"I bought a pack of cigarettes at the corner store," Jonah blurted. "You can check with the clerk."

Beckett straightened up and collected the file sitting open on the table. "I will," she said. She turned and exited the room.

"He's not the killer," Cain told her immediately once the door was closed. "I know Uncle Jonah, he would never-"

"We're just making sure, Cain," Detective Beckett explained. "We want to be thorough in our investigation so we don't miss anything." She chewed the corner of her mouth and checked her phone for missed messages.

Cain looked at Castle who was observing Smith.

"We're going to hold Smith until the morning when we can check his alibi," said Beckett. She and Castle stared at each other, both of them only making small eye movements and facial expressions, as if communicating by some mute language. Castle shook his head.

"We should get home," said Castle, handing her the mostly empty bag of food and her strawberry shake.

In the elevator once again, Cain observed quietly as Detective Beckett stood in front of Castle with her back to him. Castle pushed aside the hair at the back of her neck and undid the clasp to a silver chain Cain hadn't noticed until then. From under her shirt, Beckett pulled out two engagement rings hanging from the chain, one of them small and simple, the other large and ornate. She removed the larger ring from the necklace, slipped it onto her left hand, and refastened the chain, the smaller diamond disappearing into her cleavage. Cain could tell that the two of them did this daily, a tradition they shared at the end of a long day. He didn't comment.

The drive to Castle's home was a silent one, the only sound coming from the radio that was on an ESPN network commenting on the latest game. Cain was uninterested by the stats the host was spewing, focused on the road ahead.

As the car slowed in front of a four-story brick building, Cain stifled a gasp. The apartment building was huge and from the lit-up windows, he could see that one loft took up two floors. A place like this with New York's real estate must be worth a cool million.

Even more impressive was the interior, tastefully decorated with modern furniture and vibrant colors of red, orange, and vermillion. It was dimly lit and warm, giving the impression of being in an oven. To his right was a bedroom, separated by the rest of the apartment by bookshelves that were home to a large collection of glossy novels. There were no true walls here, one room flowing seamlessly into the next.

As soon as the door was closed, Castle took Beckett's coat and hung them on a red stand. Detective Beckett removed her heels and tossed her hair into a messy bun at the nape of her neck.

"So this is my-our house," Castle said, sweeping his arm in a wide gesture. "Casa de Castle et Beckett."

Cain was still busy taking in the huge space. He turned in circles, unused to such opulence.

Castle laughed.

Cain stopped. "What?"

"It's like a scene out of _Annie_," said Castle which earned him a smile from Beckett. They shared a private joke.

"Who's _Annie_?" asked Cain.

Castle waved it off.

"I'm going to make some coffee, babe, you want some?" Detective Beckett asked, walking backwards in the direction of the kitchen.

"Always."

She nodded. "Can I get you something to drink, Cain?"

"No thanks, Ms. Beckett," Cain denied politely, clasping his hands tightly behind his back.

"All right, I'll be right back," she said to Castle.

Castle watched her go. "Wait here," he told him eventually and disappeared into the bedroom.

In their absence, Cain took time to be properly amazed by his fancy surroundings. He fingered the antique bridge sculpture behind the leather couch and the cream-colored candles with hardened wax surrounding their wicks.

Castle came back seconds later, his arms laden with a sheet, fluffy wool blanket, and two pillows. He unfolded the sheet and spread it out on the couch, then placed the blanket and pillows on top. "Will you be comfortable here?"

"Yes, thanks, Mr. Castle," Cain said appreciatively, removing his varsity jacket and depositing it on the ottoman. "I can't thank you enough for this."

"It's no problem at all," said Castle. "It's the least I can do." He waited. "It's been a long day, you should get some sleep."

Cain smiled and sat down on the couch.

Castle turned slowly and began to walk towards his room. "Oh, and you can call me Rick."

"Thanks Rick."

"Anytime, kid."

* * *

Cain was exhausted, but sleep just wouldn't come. His eyes burned with tears as he finally had time to register his own grief. He cried silently in the dark, flipping through pictures of him and his mom on the camera roll he kept on his cell.

It was around 1:47 and Cain was still wide awake. The lamps in Castle's room were still burning bright, some of the light coming through the spaces in the bookshelves. From his spot on the couch, he could see clearly into the bedroom. He spied a large queen-sized bed with two nightstands flanking it. On the wall to the bed's right was a huge art print of an Aztec elephant and on the other, a mirror and some kind of large black frame containing various sea shells.

There was a low rustle of sheets shifting.

"Castle, stop," he heard Beckett whisper.

Seconds passed without a sound and then:

"Castle, I said stop it," Beckett said quietly. "Just behave and read your book."

"I can't," Castle replied.

"Castle, seriously. Keep your hands to yourself, will you?"

"C'mon, Kate. You can't expect me to watch you tear it up in the interrogation room and then tell me to behave."

"I do when your _son _is on the couch just outside the door," said Beckett, putting emphasis on _son_.

Cain smirked and lifted his head off the pillow to better hear the activities going on in the next room.

"He's a teenage boy, he sleeps like a log," Castle protested. There was the muffled noise of skin sheet and skin against skin.

"Castle, _no_, he'll hear."

A beat of silence. "What if I did this? Would this change your mind?" Castle asked; his voice barely audible over the rustling of sheets.

"Castle, don't you da- ah. Ooooh," Beckett hummed, surrendering to his touch. "Mmmm."

"You like that?"

"Mmm. Yeah."

Springs squeaked as the bed shifted. "What about this?" asked Castle.

Beckett moaned appreciatively. "Ooh, mmmm, yeah, that feels incredible." The loft went quiet again for a minute. "I guess we can if we're quiet."

"You're the screamer."

"Shut up."

Under normal circumstances, Cain wouldn't have minded listening to this. He might have even crept up to the bookshelves to get a front-row seat to see the private porn show. But considering this was his dad, Cain only wrinkled his nose and unraveled his headphones from his jacket pocket, rammed them in his ears, and placed a pillow over his face.

* * *

Cain woke to the sound of the Kurig and the sweet aroma of fresh ground coffee beans. _This family sure drinks a lot of coffee_, was his first thought.

He had hoped that he would wake up this morning and the events of yesterday were just a nightmare. He would go downstairs where his mom would hand him a heaping plate of waffles drenched in King syrup. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

Castle came into the living room with a gigantic helping of pancakes and orange juice. "You're up," he remarked and handed him the plate. "Guess what."

"What?" Cain asked, not yet fully awake.

"Beckett got a new lead on your mom's case."


	4. Chapter 4

"So where's Detective Beckett?" asked Cain from the passenger seat of Castle's Ferrari. He sipped his to-go cup of coffee and grimaced. Cain had never understood the appeal of the beverage that was the subject of many people's morning addictions.

"She went into the precinct early to get a jump on the case," Castle replied, easing out of the parking garage and onto the street. "Plus she hates to sit in morning traffic."

"Hm."

"Did you sleep okay last night?"

Cain smirked, secretly laughing to himself, knowing exactly what Castle was insinuating by asking. "Yeah. I usually sleep with my iPod in."

"Ah. So you didn't… hear anything?" Castle stared intently at the unmoving line of traffic ahead.

He tried not to smile as he looked at his father. "Like what?"

Castle shrugged. "Nothing."

There was an uncomfortable silence before Cain broke it. "Beckett's hot."

"I know."

"So what's she doing with you?" he teased.

Castle chuckled good-naturedly. "We're a good team," he glanced side-longed at Cain. "When you get older, you'll come to realize that there's more to women than their looks. But it doesn't hurt that Beckett's hot too."

"Certainly doesn't hurt." Cain added.

There was a long pause. "Did anyone ever give you the _talk_?"

Cain grimaced. "No."

"Do you want me to?"

"Hell no."

"Good," Castle sighed with relief. "I feel like it's my obligation as your newly appointed father to give you the talk just cause-"

"Rick? No sex talk. And you're not my "newly appointed father", you've always been my father, you just haven't known until now." Cain shrugged nonchalantly, checking his text messages.

"Right. Sorry, I'm not used to this," Castle rambled. "I'm so used to being around women all the time with my mother and Alexis and Beckett…"

"I'm not used to having a father."

"Right."

Cain ran his hand through his damp hair, still slightly soapy from his rushed shower. He looked around the interior of the car. "Nice ride, man."

"What?"

"Sorry, it just seemed like the thing to say."

"Oh… thanks."

Cain shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say to his dad. He seemed to always be blabbing about whatever he thought he was _supposed _to say, not what he wanted to. "Did you ever want a son?"

Castle drummed his thumbs on the wheel as the car inched forwards. "Yeah. But I always thought my first would be with Beckett."

Cain flicked through the menu screen of his phone and didn't respond.

Castle turned to look at him. "But… y'know, if I did have a son, I always imagined he would be like you."

Cain looked up and grinned. It was the thing he had wanted to hear from Castle all along. He brushed off the sweet moment by bringing the collar of his varsity jacket up to his nose and sniffing.

Castle noticed the movement. "Oh, we can stop by your house on the way home and get some of your things if you want."

"That'd be great," Cain nodded, grimacing at the stench of his own clothing.

"You must really love that jacket," Castle noted, referring to the well-worn article.

"I do. Usually kids don't earn one until their senior year so it's kinda a status thing," Cain explained, pulling at the ironed-on W letter. "I like clothes that mean something. I wear this practically every day."

"I can tell. You could get that thing dry cleaned once in a while," he pointed to a bloodstain on his left sleeve.

Cain waved it off. "Ah, that would wash away the good luck. Besides, it would ruin the stitching."

"You sure care a lot about that jacket."

He shrugged. "Have you ever gotten one?"

"What?"

"A varsity jacket."

"Sports were never my thing," Castle confessed although he didn't seem bothered by it.

"Huh. I wonder where I got my athleticism from then," Cain mused. His mom wasn't into athletics and supposedly neither was his father.

They pulled up at the curb of the 12th precinct and climbed out. When they stepped out of the elevator, they were ambushed by two men. One of them, a tough looking Hispanic who wore his badge like a medal and the shorter of the two, a sharply-dressed man in a vest with about a pound of gel in his hair.

The Hispanic guy puffed out his chest so the light caught the shine of his tin. "Tsup, bro?" He said coolly, shaking Castle's hand. He nodded to Cain. "Is the Castle junior Beckett was telling us about?"

Cain stood up a little straighter. "Hey, man, how's it going?" he said, shaking the guy's hand. "I prefer Cain."

"Sup, kid. I'm Javier Esposito. Cool jacket."

"Thanks."

"Ah, Cain, this is Detective Kevin Ryan," Castle pointed to the snazzy guy who smiled sheepishly and shook his hand.

"Hi Cain," said Detective Ryan. His grip was weak, like shaking the hand of an octopus, just less slimy.

"So is it true?" Esposito asked eagerly. "Is he really your son?"

Castle looked from his friends to Cain. "Ah, yes… well… yes. But we're going to get a DNA test eventually."

Ryan put his hands in his pockets and smiled. "You guys look alike."

"I know right?" Castle replied giddily, as if the thought tickled him for some reason. "Weird."

Cain peered at his father.

"Castle!" Cain heard Detective Beckett shout from afar.

Castle jumped and responded to her call like a well-trained puppy to his mistress. "Oh, right. COMING!" he grabbed Cain by the arm and dragged him into the bullpen with the two detectives in tow.

"Hey," Beckett's face lit up at her fiance's arrival.

"Hi," Castle said, looking like he was about to lean in for a kiss. "You got up early this morning." The couple wound up shaking hands for a few moments which Cain found slightly odd and he made note to ask Castle what his deal with PDA was. He looked at Detectives Ryan and Esposito who were also regarding their colleagues curiously as Castle and Beckett shared a weirdly conservative yet somehow intimate handshake. Cain decided that he would never understand love.

Cain leaned against a vacant desk to the right of Detective Beckett's and stared at the gold statue of a bulldog adorning the desktop. He leaned over to examine the nametag and discovered that the owner of said desk was Javier Esposito. He stood up.

"So, Cain," Detective Beckett said, getting down to business. "I was wondering if you could fill in some gaps in your mom's timeline."

The teenager crossed one ankle over the other and leaned his weight to the side. "Sure. Whatever I can do to help."

Beckett pointed to the hashed line on the whiteboard that he and Castle had played hangman on the night before that was now covered in evidence. "All right, so your mom usually went into the office at 8:00 and left at 12:30 for a lunch break." She crossed out the section between 8 and 12:30. "And according to her boss she came back an hour later at 1:00. She worked then from 1 to 7, taking a break from 5 to 6 for dinner. But her editor also said that the day she was…" she paused and looked cautiously at Cain.

Cain blinked calmly, knowing that she was making sure that he wasn't going to react to the harsh word.

"…killed," she said finally. "she came back to work late around 7:30."

Cain looked at Castle for help, not understanding the significance of this fact. "Okay."

"So we figured that she met someone during that time," Esposito offered. "someone that might have wanted to kill her."

"Right," Detective Beckett confirmed, sitting down at her desk. "So we checked traffic cams and found out where your mom went during that time."

Cain's eyes widened. "Where?"

Beckett reached into the lower drawer of her desk and extracted the sports section of the local newspaper which was flipped to the inside where they usually covered high school events. She unfolded it and then taped it to the murder board. The headline, typed in Britannic Bold read:

**Sophomore All-American, Watson scores winning point for the Warriors, 10-8**

Under it, dominating most of the page, is a photo of him wearing his red and white jersey with the number 0 emblazoned on the chest, his toes three inches from the ground as the ball leaves his fingertips just before the buzzer. Cain could practically hear the roar of the crowd as he briefly relived his shining moment; the rush of adrenaline as the ball spun through the air just over the fingertips of his defenders and swished into the net, everything muted and in slow motion. But he quickly came back to earth when he noticed the face in the crowd circled in red Sharpie. Immediately, he recognized his mom. "She came to my game," he muttered, squinting at the photo, the background made blurry by the depth of field. "Wh-" Cain stammered. "Why would she come but not… she didn't… I didn't know she was there. I could have…" he sighed.

"You had no idea she was there?" Beckett asked, also studying the photo.

"No," Cain said. "I wish I had known. But she never came to my games because they were always during his work hours. Why would she go yesterday but not tell me she was there?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out," Ryan said. "Do you think there was another reason she might have shown up for your game? Other than to watch?"

"No."

"She wasn't friends with any of the other players' parents?" asked Detective Ryan, making notes on a tiny pad of paper.

"No."

All of the Detectives exchanged glances, making small eye movements that must been a secret way of their communicating.

"We're about to talk to your coach-"

"Why would you need to talk to my coach?" Cain snapped.

They all looked at each other again.

"It's important to look at everyone during an investigation," Beckett said automatically. "So we can be thorough."

Cain swallowed hard, wondering how many lives they'd have to pore through to find his mom's killer. "So everyone's a suspect?"

"Pretty much," the four of them said in unison.

Cain scoffed and shook his head. "What happened to innocent until proven guilty?"

They chuckled and again, Cain felt like an outsider in their holding pattern. "So what's your probable cause for talking to my coach?"

"No probable cause," Detective Esposito said. "it's just to gather info."

"Ah," Cain nodded. "I'm learning more and more about the police every second."

"Speaking of learning," Castle said, placing a firm hand on Cain's shoulder. "What are you going to do about school?"

Cain's heart sank. He couldn't imagine going back to high school, walking down the halls with his head down like nothing had changed while silently carrying a weight in his heart. His classmates would give him pitying looks and whisper the rumors about his mom behind indiscreet hands like he was deaf to their words. Cain wouldn't be known as the big man on campus anymore, the star athlete, the ladies' man. He would be Cain Watson: orphan. And no matter how hard he'd try, that's the first thing they'd think of when his name would come up in conversation. "I'm not going back."

Castle nodded. "Not now."

"No," Cain said matter-of-factly. "Not ever." He stared at Castle, waiting for him to argue, to say that he was going to school because he said so. But to his surprise, Castle only shrugged and said.

"It's your decision but we'll talk it over later, decide what's best for you."

Cain looked at him with respect as the detectives headed for the interrogation room and soon after, he and Castle followed them.

He, Castle, and Esposito stood in front of the window as Ryan and Beckett took a seat across the table from Cain's basketball coach, George Coolidge, or as his players called him, Coach Cool. He was in his early thirties, tall and fit, with short brown hair. Cain had known him since he was twelve when Coach Cool had taken him under his wing, saying he saw potential in him that just needed some tuning. He felt bad, seeing the guy who had practically promised him a good future being interrogated for the murder of his mother.

"Did you know Mrs. Watson?" asked Ryan.

"Kind of. Mostly as Cain's mom," Coach Cool said, leaning back in his chair with one arm draped over the back. "good kid, lots of talent."

Beckett tilted her head. "What about his mom?"

Coach Cool shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. "Not much to say there. What was her name again?"

Beckett glared at him. "Collette. And you know that because…" she slid a stack of seemingly blank sheets of paper across the table.

Coach Cool turned it over and Cain leaned forward to see what it was. He could tell that it was a collection of pictures and could vaguely make out his mom with… was that Coach? The first was his mom talking to him outside of the gym, the next her and Coach leaving a bar together, and the last was of her letting him into their house. "Shit," Cain mumbled.

"You were having an affair with her," Beckett accused.

Cain's jaw hit the floor. Coach Cool was sleeping with his mom?! That was disgusting. He couldn't picture… ew.

Coach Cool finally lost his cool. He turned white and began to sweat. "I-I don't… we weren't… who took these pictures?"

Detective Beckett stood up and began to pace around Coach Cool who had to keep swiveling his head awkwardly to keep her in view, as if scared that she would pounce if he lost eye contact.

"Anonymous source," Ryan said.

Coach leaned forwards, his sweaty palms flat on the table. "You're not going to tell my wife, are you?"

"Your wife is the least of your worries right now, Coolidge," Beckett smirked. "You're looking at murder charges; a life in prison."

"What murder?" Cool asked dumbly, as if the entire conversation about Collette Watson was just casual banter.

"Collette's," Ryan answered.

"Collie's dead?!" Coach Cool exclaimed, his eyes wide.

"_Collie_?" Cain grimaced. "Why would my mom be sleeping with my coach? That's nasty, man," he said to Castle.

Castle agreed but put his index finger to his lips, thoroughly engrossed in the interrogation.

"Don't act stupid, Coolidge," Beckett said, stopping in her tracks to stare the coach down. "You knew she was dead-"

"No, I didn't!" he insisted.

"Because you met with her last night after your game," Beckett slid another picture from the file of Collette and Coach Cool getting into his car, the time stamp at the bottom reading 6:47.

Cain nearly gagged.

"We went through Collette's emails and text messages, about a hundred of them to you," said Ryan. "We found some very interesting ones…" he showed Coach a printout of various text messages. "From you to Ms. Watson saying that he would wave Cain's very _very_ steep $7,000 sports fee for a little… _favor_."

Beckett pulled her chair out and sat down again. "So what happened? Did Collette threaten to tell your wife and knowing Cain would be out late celebrating with the rest of the team, you stayed and slit her throat while she was making you dinner?"

"No!"

"We found your prints at the scene," said Detective Beckett.

Cain glared at Coach Cool, feeling let down yet again by someone he looked up to. "He was banging my mom cause he knew we had financial trouble."

"The bastard," Castle murmured.

"Yeah," Coach practically shouted in hysterics. "cause I went there yesterday for a quickie during our lunch breaks!"

Cain had to hold down his vomit and Castle patted him comfortingly on the back.

"Where were you between 9:30 and 10:00 last night?" asked Ryan.

"I was at the gym, pumping iron."

Beckett's eyes narrowed. "At 10:00 shouldn't you have been home with your wife and baby?"

Coach Cool leaned back in his chair, knowing that he was off the hook because he had an alibi. "I can't stand all that crying. From either of them."

Beckett and Ryan looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

"Sounds like a nice husband," Castle remarked.

"We'll ask your wife to verify, but you'll need a lawyer," Beckett said, collecting her papers. "Because we all know that your wife would gladly rat you out if she found out she was cheating on you."

Coach Cool turned whiter.

* * *

**Author's Note: Speaking of sons, how adorable was that last episode :D In writing news, I'm going to finish up this story, _Castle and Bishop_ and _Dear Kate_ and then start a Grey's Anatomy/ Castle crossover. Or Betrayal/ Castle. Maybe. We'll see. Crossovers hardly get any views so... maybe.**


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